


Creatures of the Light

by Ozymanreis



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [45]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Human Jim, M/M, Vamp!lock, Vampire Sherlock, Vamplock, light - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 06:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2259537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozymanreis/pseuds/Ozymanreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vamp!AU</p><p>The shorter man shivers, but does nothing to fight him away, "Please. If you're going to <i>kill</i> me, at least call me Jim."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Creatures of the Light

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #3: Light
> 
> Partially written with a stranger on Omegle!

**[7:00pm]**

**I need to see you. -JM**

**And before you think about declining, I should inform you that tonight is your last night alive. -JM**

 

Sherlock wasn't considering turning down the invitation, but he had to smirk a bit at the choice of words. It had been over three hundred years, yet he still got tickled whenever someone referred to him as "alive," or threatened his death by conventional means. Still, Moriarty was special — the only human he'd ever met to rival his intellect — and he had to humor such inanities anyway. Might as well see what he wants… might get a clue about tomorrow. 

 

**Fine. Where? -SH**

 

**Pool. Obviously. -JM**

 

Pulling on his scarf and coat, Sherlock didn't need to respond. The thing about Moriarty was that he either understood that Sherlock would _never_ turn him down because he enjoyed the chase, or he was simply incapable of thinking someone wouldn't bend to his will on command. Either way, the immortal left without a huff. 

 

* * *

 

"Thank you for meeting me." Moriarty singsongs, appearing as he always did out of the locker room on the far end.

"Anything for a friend." Sherlock smirks, "Even if he's trying to kill me." He noted that the consulting criminal looked good; a bit more tired than when they last met, but good still. Then again, his analysis could've been shaded by the fact Sherlock just realized he was hungry. But no, no. He was too interesting to murder. But perhaps…

"I'm your _nemesis_. Much better than something so ordinary as a _friend_." They walk slowly toward each other, until they were in arm's reach. It always happened like this, as if drawn by magnetism. It's a new feeling for Sherlock, as until now, humans have always just looked like food. Moriarty looks like — well, he doesn't want to think about it.

"I suppose… but why exactly did you call me out this time? To taunt me?"

"No, I do plenty of that from afar…" Jim chuckles, "I needed to discuss something with you."

"What did you need to discuss in person that we couldn't have done tomorrow before my apparent death?" 

"About _that_ …" Jim smirks, too pleased with himself, "You're a vampire." He says with absolute conviction.

"A what?" Sherlock manages a good surprised face. Lots of practice. 

"A _bloodsucker_." He says, almost mockingly. 

"I'm sure I don't — "

"Honey, I can keep a secret. No need to lie to me."

Sherlock's breath hitches, but decides to give it up, "… how did you know?" 

"I've had a few work for me before." He shrugs, as if Sherlock's supernatural affliction were yesterday's news, "But the hungry way you've been glancing at my neck is a dead giveaway." 

"Pun intended?" He smiles, like he usually avoids, showing off his sharp canines. 

Jim quirked a brow, leaning in to examine the pointed teeth, "It hasn't been confirmed that you're actually _dead_ , has it?"

"Well, no…" Sherlock shrugs, "But as I'm sure you know, it's hard to do tests on any of this stuff. Obviously I don't have a pulse, but is that how we classify 'living?' Considering I walk, talk and make people uncomfortable, perhaps we need a broader term." He rolls his eyes, "That is, if ever we were to go public."

"Oh! Yes!" Jim claps once at the words, "About that too! The Ice Man…" He takes a sultry step toward him, whispering in his ear, "Is he _really_ your brother, or is that a cover story?"

"Genetically, we're not brothers, no… but in a way." He winks uncharacteristically, "Same sire and all…" 

Jim is about to reply something snarky about them being _obvious_ , seeing as they look _nothing_ alike, but in that exact moment, Sherlock surges forward, grasping him by the shoulders and tucking his face against his neck. "Surely, Moriarty, since you knew what I was, it occurred to you what a bad idea this was, getting me alone…" He inhales deeply over the pulsing throat, "So defenseless as well…" 

The shorter man shivers, but does nothing to fight him away, "Please. If you're going to _kill_ me, at least call me Jim." The opposite to most prey, Moriarty actually relaxes into Sherlock's embrace, throwing the undead creature off, just a bit.

"Well, then, _Jim_ …" Sherlock taunts, running his tongue over his teeth, covertly coating them in a very fine layer of his own blood, "May I?"

"If you must." It sounds reluctant, but Jim still leaned his neck to the left, giving Sherlock access to his jugular, "Try to leave an attractive corpse, won't you?"

"Mmm…" He hums lasciviously on his carotid artery, almost rubbing his nose against him in anticipation, "Thank you." He whispers, biting roughly.

Jim hisses at the pain, clinging to Sherlock as if hugging him. Sherlock returns the gesture, hands snaking around his waist. Taking slow gulps, the feeding was dragged on unnecessarily, while still not robbing the criminal of too much blood. The leech pulls away, "No more than a pint…" He licks the dribbles from the puncture wounds, "You won't miss it."

"Not at all… but I hope you enjoyed that." Jim smirks, applying pressure to the affected area, "I'll make sure it's the last bit of gratification you'll ever get."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Sherlock grins momentarily, arms still wrapped around Jim's waist. He leaned down, connecting their lips. Oh, what he would give to have a heartbeat right now. 

Jim's, meanwhile, went haywire. 

 

* * *

 

**[5:00am the next morning]**

 

**St. Bart's rooftop. -JM**

 

**I'm not sure that's wise. -SH**

 

**[image attached] -JM**

 

**What is that? -SH**

 

**Isn't it obvious? It's your DNA. -JM**

 

**[delay] How did you get that? -SH**

 

**You bit me. Saliva. Sequencing lab. -JM**

 

**I see. -SH**

 

**Don't worry, Sherlock, it only goes public if you don't come play. -JM**

 

* * *

 

Jim sits on the ledge, staring up into the sky. Sunrise was soon, and it was fading quickly from dark navy to cerulean, "I thought you might prefer this as an execution spot… so many memories. What will they say when they find your pile of _ashes_ on the roof?" He calls casually as he hears the door open and shut.

"I doubt many will know it's _me_ …" Sherlock points out, "Besides you and Mycroft, people will expect me to leave a body. What will ordinary humans think of _dust_?" He shrugs, "But I think you have a grave misunderstanding of what's going to happen here."

"Oh, do I?"

"Yes… see, unlike humans, vampires can't _choose_ to die… our sense of self-preservation wins out." He looks forlornly toward the horizon, "When the sun starts rising, I will automatically flee for shelter, whether I want to or not."

"I could _hold_ you here."

Sherlock scoffs, then breaks off a piece of the concrete roof tiling like it was wet tissue, "I'm _stronger_ than you."

"I could lock the door."

"I have a few options there." Sherlock muses, actually interested by the notion of being _cornered_. In fact, it was the only reason he showed up in the first place, not particularly his concern if he was revealed or not — that was more Mycroft's department, "I could rip the door off of its hinges, or I could jump off the roof."

"Would you survive that?"

"Might break a few bones, but they'd heal quickly." He shrugs — it really wouldn't be a big deal.

"Well…" Jim runs a hand through his hair in frustration as the realization dawns on him, "This isn't going at _all_ how I planned. Good show, Mr. Holmes." He holds out a hand, urging Sherlock to take it with his eyes. The immortal obliges, albeit with lingering suspicion in his face. 

"I'll admit. It was clever…" Sherlock smirks, "DNA sequence on my saliva? No one's ever tried that before."

"Yes. Why _else_ would I let you bite me?" Jim rolls his eyes, but really, he'd mostly done it out of curiosity.

"That was a risky move." Sherlock frowns, "I could've _easily_ lost control and drained you on the spot."

"Yeah, but you didn't. And isn't danger the spice of life?" His smile glinted in the faint glow from the horizon, "Still — " The criminal pulled out a gun with his free hand, the other still grasping the icy cold of Sherlock's.

That's about when everything went wrong. 

"Jim, _wait_!" Sherlock screams. But it was too late. 

Moriarty pulls the trigger, bullet bursting through the top of his skull. But as he fell back, he didn't lose consciousness — instead, he started screaming at the top of his lungs, pure agony ripping through his body.

"Dammit." Sherlock sighs, resigned now to wait for it to pass, "I tried to warn you."

"TRIED TO WARN ME ABOUT WHAT?!" Jim is rolling on the ground in pain, processing at the very basest of all possible speeds, brain on fire. But he _does_ notice a curious lack of blood, despite it being a serious head wound. 

"… bullets can't kill vampires. It's just _incredibly_ painful."

"WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ME?!?!"

"Once the increased healing factor comes into play, your thoughts will clear up, and — " Sherlock tries to explain, but is cut off by more screaming. He sits next to the writhing body of Jim Moriarty, counting the seconds until he recovered.

A full ten minutes later, Jim begins to quiet down, cells regenerating. 

"So, anyways, now that you're done with that — "

" _You_." Jim hisses, sitting up, clutching a hand to where there was once a hole in his head, "What did you _do_?" 

Sherlock frowns. He knows the depths to which he's sunk, and what he's condemned Jim to. But he can't care, not when he's just saved his life, "I'm sorry." It was all he could think to say, but it was nowhere near enough.

"You… you made me…" Jim's voice was shaking.

"A vampire." 

" _Immortal_." Jim snaps as if the word were the foulest of all curses. 

The hairs on the back of Sherlock's neck stood on end, but not at Jim's words, "We need to get inside." He says gravely, his body naturally telling him to flee as the sun began to rise, "And don't fight me on that, I know you're feeling it too." Quirking a brow, he saw the shiver run up Jim's spine, "Yes. There it is." He grabs his hand roughly and pulls them back in the building, shutting the door behind them.

Once they were safely in the dark, Jim's mind began hitting overdrive. So many thoughts came crashing in all at once, not the least of which was _how_ , "How did you get this past me?" He stared at his fingers in amazement, "I know how more of you are made, and I didn't drink — "

"No, you didn't." Sherlock swallows thickly, "But the process just requires that our blood _mingle_ …" 

"When you bit me…" Jim's mouth goes dry, "You cut your tongue… injecting your blood into my circulatory system." 

"Yes." Sherlock confirms, "And since then it's been propagating itself like a virus, re-writing your insides. Good thing it was so fast, I was worried it wouldn't work in time — " 

He was interrupted by Jim punching him in the face. It was quite painful, as Jim was now strong enough to dislocate his jaw, "I was supposed to _die_ , Sherlock. I was supposed to be _done_ with all of this."

"I _know_." Sherlock says as he resets his jaw, shuddering at the pain of it, "When we spoke — no, when you _texted_ me last night, I saw your death wish… I couldn't let it happen."

"You don't get to play _God_ , Sherlock." Jim growls.

"Actually… I do." He waves a hand, "And I have, clearly. Live with it, you haven't much choice."

Jim's stomach dropped; no. No he didn't. Sherlock had been quite clear about his survival instinct… in fact, he no longer felt the crushing despair. He felt nothing at all. Well. That wasn't true, "Sherlock…" He swallowed, "I'm hungry." 

"I know." He nods, holding out his hand, "Let's find you someone, shall we?" 

Jim took it gingerly, something in the touch suddenly dawning on him, "Sherlock…?" He asks meekly.

"Yeah?" 

"Does… this mean we can play forever?" He asks, squeezing his hand hopefully. 

"Yes, Jim." He pulls him flush against his body, staring deeply into his eyes, "Forever."


End file.
